“I can hear the bull frog callin’ me” “Well, take me back down where cool water flow, y’all” “Let me remember things I love” “Stoppin’ at the log where catfish bite, “Walkin’ along the river road at night,” “Barefoot girls dancin’ in the moonlight-ee”. Pencil, crayon and water colour. Portrait of a young woman dancing…
…Calling out around the world Are you ready for a brand new beat Summer’s here and the time is right For dancing in the streets They’re dancing in Angkor They’re dancing in Paris Down in Buenos Aires In Angkor Thom All we need is music, sweet music There’ll be music everywhere They’ll be swinging, swaying, records…
Weird how a simple translation can make a difference: “I went to Saint-Francis, last year.” “Where?” “San Francisco.” “Ah! San Francisco. You got me confused. Speak English, Man!” (“I just did.”) 🙂 My faithful readers have to realize that my San Francisco pix were easier to retrieve. (25,000 pix already recovered. Overall. Not just Saint-Francis)…
He made us dance to the end of Love. He took a Chelsea Hotel to international fame. He bade farewell to all the Mariannes we knew. A pretty woman leaning in her darkened door cried to him. The Sisters of Mercy no longer wait for him. When they poured across the border he was cautioned…
The best laid plans… I was thinking of posting a Paris promenade, but Time, the eternal thief, got the better of me. So here is a pot-pourri “twenty-cinque”. Starting with a monster motif on top of Milan’s cathedral. “Muscle your piano. AVC (stroke). Trauma to the head…” Paris, Rue des Pyrénées. 2015. The house of…
1957? (OMG). Sounds – and is – like an awful long time ago. Feels like a long time ago. 🙂 We were living in Cambodia then. My father was working for Prince (Samdech) Norodom Sihanouk. A business trip to Bangkok? Sure. Took my mother with him. Left us kids and babies to the care of…
San Francisco’s cable car. I understand it’s still working. Back then in 1965, to the little boy that I was, fresh out of Africa, it was very cool. Note the hairdos on the women, and the white socks and black jeans on one of the passengers pushing the car. (Elvis wasn’t very far) The streets…
I was born to the sound of Indian music. Or so I imagine, my memories before the age of four tend to be scarce and scant. Also at that time Japanese audio technology had not yet invaded the globe. But I like to think I went to sleep as a baby to the sound of…
